Over the past moon, Reg had gotten used to the darkness of the Instructor of Arm’s cavern. The barely lit cavern felt comfortable. Reg was even getting used to the increasingly torturous exercises. Every session started the same way, with the instructor declaring them “Weak. Slow. Clumsy.” and then demonstrating new, painful, increasingly-difficult movements.
While waiting for his turn to do weighted lunges on the suspended line, Reg pulled out his doll and gave channeling magic one more try. He had no expectation of success, but we didn’t want to give up. In a recent lecture, Captain Merrin had said, “Insanity is repeating an action and expecting different results.” By that definition, Reg was hopelessly mad. But without that madness, he wouldn’t be able to hold on to his hopes for a miracle.
Fenjor was standing in front of him for his turn on the suspended line. He was blowing heavily from the wind sprints and gave Reg a scornful glance when he saw the doll, but apart from calling Reg “Doll-boy,” Fenjor had long since given up on ridiculing Reg about the doll. Reg bore the doll and the name with pride—both represented that Reg wasn’t going to give up.
In these few moments before his turn came to heave the heavy sack over his shoulders and leap to the swaying, suspended line, Reg focused on his doll. This time, he tried to visualize the energy flowing up from his core, out of his hand, and into the doll. As always, the doll’s dull eyes stared back at him.
When Fenjor completed his lunges, Reg fastened the doll back to his hip, heaved up his sack, and leaped the four feet up to the line. It swayed beneath him, and Reg focused on a far point to help gain his balance—one of the heavy, metal-bladed spears that rested on a weapon rack across the cavern’s gloomy floor. The loose spider-silk line stretched slightly under Reg’s weight. As he did his lunges, his core protested at the effort it took to hold himself steady with the line swaying underneath him. The first time he’d tried these lunges, he’d fallen off multiple times before getting across once, but with weeks of practice under his belt, the lunges and other exercises had become rote. Maybe soon they’d be able to pick up actual weapons in these sessions.
When Reg hopped back off the line after his set of lunges with burning legs, he was surprised to have the Instructor of Arms there waiting for him. Reg hadn’t noticed the instructor cross the cavern, but he was standing a few feet from Reg, pointing at Reg’s doll with his spear. The mask of a weeping woman that covered the instructor’s full face hid all emotion, and the instructor’s body was totally still.
Reg averted his gaze from the instructor’s mask - he didn’t want to set the instructor off by looking at him - and said, “Sorry, sir. I won’t practice with it again during training.”
The instructor paused for a long moment before rasping out, “Explain.” and poking his spear in the direction of the doll.
“It’s for evocation class. I’ve never been able to channel any magic into a spell, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like. The doll is supposed to help me tell when I’m successfully channeling. I haven’t had any use with it though. I won’t bring it to class again, sir. Sorry about being distracted.” Reg said in a rush.
The instructor paused, even longer this time, long enough that Reg thought he might be dismissed, before saying an unfamiliar word while pointing his spear towards Reg. It sounded like “Sad Ant.”
Reg shook his head, “I don’t understand, sir. Sad ant? Sad aunt?”
The instructor gestured towards Dun, currently doing a set of lunges on the swaying line, and then pointed to the ground. The elf hopped down and stood next to Reg.
The instructor gestured towards Reg again, repeating “sad ant” in his strange voice.
Reg looked questioningly towards Dun. Dun looked uncertain, and said “I’m not sure what he means. Sir, maybe if you wrote it down?”
The instructor ignored this suggestion entirely. He gestured at them to grab practice spears and then follow him to a training circle. The instructor walked backwards, not willing to leave Dun and Reg with spears behind him, despite the heavy padding that covered both ends of the mock-spears.
Once they were at the training circle, the instructor pointed to Dun and said “on.” After saying that, blue fire slowly spread from the instructor’s fingers, before covering the entire spear shaft. The light from the magical flames pushed back the gloomy darkness of the cavern. The instructor then said “off” and the flames dwindled away, leaving things even darker than before.
Gesturing towards Reg, the instructor said “Defend.” Then to Dun, “On. Attack.”
Dun planted his spear on the ground and then drew his left hand down the entire length of the shaft while muttering something sibilant. As his hand went down the shaft, it left behind sparks of scarlet lightning that crawled up and down the shaft with a sound like a horde of chittering beetles. When Dun grasped the spear with both hands again, the lightning played around his fingers as well. He hefted his spear and glanced at Reg, “Be careful. This is dangerous stuff.”
Reg nodded, and held his spear loosely in front of him. Whatever else was going on, it felt good to be holding a spear in the dueling circle again; it had been a long time. He bowed to Dun who bowed back, before Dun started to attack.
Reg fended off Dun’s initial probing thrusts. He kept his position in the ring, using his spear to guide the thrusts aside. Reg remembered fighting with Dun during the trials, and while Dun still had perfect technique, his attacks felt slightly slower than they had a moon ago. Perhaps he was worried about nicking Reg with that dangerously crackling shaft?
When the probing attacks didn’t connect, Dun switched to wielding his spear more like a quarterstaff, twirling his spear and sending powerful blows towards Reg’s torso and legs. Reg continued to block, circling counter-clockwise, occasionally jumping over the lower blows. A few of the blows came close enough for Reg to feel a strange heat from the crackling spear, but none connected.
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After a few minutes, the instructor barked out “off.” Dun took a few steps back and thumped the base of his spear into the cavern floor several times. With each thump, more of the red lightning left the spear shaft in a series of rough, concentric circles.
When Dun came to attack again, he felt like a different person. The thrusting probes felt faster as Dun alternated between thrusts at Reg to whirling blows at Reg’s side. The blows felt stronger than before, and Reg back-pedaled as Dun attacked. A feint towards Reg’s head brought Reg’s spear too high to block the spear sweeping at his legs. He jumped over the spear, but Dun had followed the sweep with a high kick that caught Reg in his left ankle and made his landing awkward. Dun charged forward while Reg stumbled backwards, trying to recover. He was able to block three thrusts, but the fourth, after a quick feint, slipped through and hit him in the chest.
Reg took a few steps back and rubbed his chest. He could tell that Dun had pulled the blow a bit, but it would still leave a nasty bruise. At least, it would normally—the thorough healing that they went through after every training session made quick work of bruises. Reg gave Dun a respectful bow, “Nicely fought.”
Dun shrugged, “It’s easier when I know you’re not going to be fighting back. You were almost acceptable that first round.”
“You weren’t just going easy on me?”
Dun laughed loudly, a light sound that rang through the cavern, “Go easy? And deprive you of a challenge? Never. I fought just as hard in both rounds. Perhaps you’re too weak to fight well for more than a round.”
“On.” The instructor’s voice came as a surprise. “Begin.”
Dun planted his spear and covered it with that scarlet lightning again. He then came at Reg for the third time, spear thrusting, feet moving fast on the rough floor. Like the first round, Reg fended him off. Dun’s overhead blows lacked a bit of the strength they’d had in the past round, his feet moved a bit slower, the thrusts didn’t have the same wind-quick snap to them. Small differences, but large enough that Reg was able to hold his own and not let any attacks slip through.
“Stop.” The command came after several hard minutes of sparring. Reg and Dun both bent over, catching their breath. Reg felt like he was starting to understand what the instructor was trying to show him.
The instructor of arms held his spear horizontally in front of him, then said “Balance.” He then put the spear-butt to the ground and repeated, “Sad ant.”
Reg hummed thoughtfully. “So, magic can empower you physically? Dun, that’s why you slowed down whenever you were covering your spear with lightning. You had less magic to help you move.”
Dun nodded slowly, “I didn’t feel any slower. You just seemed a tiny bit faster than normal, but I suppose I could have slowed down.” He frowned thoughtfully, “In school, I remember one teacher telling us that all creatures in the world, including people, naturally call on magic to empower their movements. Without that, and relying solely on natural strength, he said that even throwball athletes or circle duelists would struggle to leap their own height.”
Reg wished, not for the first time, that he’d been a better student. His teachers had probably told the class about that too, but he’d ignored everything that wasn’t about herding or spider-care. “OK,” he said slowly, “so what’s a sad ant, then?”
“Sad ant. Savant!” Dun said excitedly. “I’ve heard of savants before, babies who cast spells from the crib, channeling magic as naturally as breathing. Those babies often grow up to be archmages or archdruids.”. He turned to the instructor, “So, you’re saying that Reg is a physical savant? He empowers himself naturally?”
The instructor nodded.
Reg was almost jumping with excitement. Finally, an explanation for his block that felt right! He’d always been fast, always been balanced, but he’d never tied that to not being able to channel the smallest bit of magic. This explained why, but—he thought, mood falling—what if that still meant that he couldn’t get past his block. He turned to the instructor, “What do I need to do to get past that to channel magic? What do I need to do?” The last question came out as a desperate plea.
“Get tired. Feel sustaining. Put doll. Now sprint.” This was the longest speech the instructor had ever given to any of them, the words coming slow and halting.
The hope that his magic wasn’t permanently broken, that there was a path to figuring out how to channel external magic, was so—“Now sprint!” The rasping words interrupted Reg’s excited reverie. He shook himself, and took off across the floor of the cavern, doing the back and forth loom sprints that the instructor wanted. He concentrated on the feeling of his body, trying to feel the magic that he knew was flowing out to his muscles.
Reg’s legs burned, it felt like they were moving so slowly. His breath came in rasping gulps, his heart pounded madly, he pushed himself through the sprints, all the while trying to feel for magic sustaining him, whatever that felt like.
The springs went on and on, before the instructor eventually stopped them: “Feel sustaining. Put doll.”
Reg bent over, hands on knees. He pulled the doll out, and pushed its long hair back from its gem eyes so that he could stare into their depths. He concentrated on feeling for his magic, on feeling for whatever it was that was sustaining him, to give it to the doll. Nothing. Same as always.
A vicious forehand blow from the instructor caught him across the back of the head. He realized he’d been concentrating so hard that he’d missed instructions, “Get tired. Now sprint.” Legs protesting, he resumed his loom sprints.
These cycles continued. Exhausting sprints follow by trying to channel magic into the doll. He tried variations on the visualizations that Professor Ashsprocket had taught him: becoming a flower and sharing the nectar of his strength with a bee; the moon pulling out his speed as it crossed the sky; sustaining power from his heart flowing out to the doll. As always, nothing worked.
He lost track of time. At some point during the endless cycles, the rest of the class had left, and a new class had entered the cavern. He saw Val, Yeva, Patril, Jackobee, and others moving through exercises and simple katas. Some of the class was staring at him while he continued to sprint back and forth.
His speed wasn’t enough. His strength wasn’t enough. His balance or skill with the spear wasn’t enough. If he was going to protect people—his family, his friends, his home—he needed to be able to do this. Needed to be able to give his strength away. Letting go and giving it to his doll was the first step on that path. He could feel the strength that was sustaining him, could feel it letting him push himself to continue sprinting, could feel it in his bones, in his breath, in the beat of his heart. It was his every movement.
He looked over and saw Val sparring with Patril. Val was being pushed back, her practice spear awkward in her hands. He saw Yeva bent over, panting, after some exercises. He wouldn’t be able to protect any of them if he couldn’t let go and give his strength to the doll. His muscles and body didn’t need his strength, his friends did.
He focused on letting go, and something shifted inside him and he felt the magic flow. The energy that sustained him flowed from his heart up and out of his mouth in a slow exhalation. His heart started to beat madly, the rhythm off. His lungs seized up, why couldn’t he breathe? He was falling down, darkness covering his vision, but the darkness didn’t hide two pinpricks of emerald light shining forth from the doll. Reg collapsed to the floor and knew no more.